Patch of Earth
by I Brake For Bishounen Boys
Summary: After many years, the Doctor visits a former companion for some much needed help. Loki will not cooperate unless he receives something in return.


12

The prison is an ingenious one. Loki has exactly two square feet of solid ground, and all around him is black void. Should he fall asleep, he will start to teeter into the emptiness. And so he stands stock still, hands clenched around the handles on either side of him.

The Doctor could not think of a crueler punishment if he tried for a century. Something so terrible and so fitting to Loki could only have been devised by those who knew him well. And that makes him sick.

"Loki," he mutters from the visiting side of the prison. Loki looks at him, eyes confused and feverish. "I need to ask you a question."

Loki laughs shakily.

"You come so far to ask me a question? I'm humbled."

"You've been keeping a secret."

"What secrets could I keep from_ you?_" he whispers. "You were the only one who could read my face when I lied."

"There are lives at stake."

"And when have I had _any _inclination to care?"

"I remember you did, once. When you traveled with me."

Loki laughs, probably at the same memory that the Doctor is frowning from, and he looks down.

"I don't travel with you anymore."

After a long silence, he returns the Doctor's gaze.

"What you want is very valuable information, Doctor. Elder knowledge passed down to me from the roots of Yggdrasil. I can't give it away for free."

"Loki, I know you're in pain, and I am so sorry, truly I am, but I can't negotiate a reprieve for this information."

"I don't want a reprieve," Loki hisses. "For my crimes, there should be no reprieve. I want knowledge of equal value. I want a story."

"A... story."

"Something to pass the time. I have stagnated like this for years now, and the vaults of my knowledge and recollection are exhausted. It is enough that I am imprisoned like this; I don't want the additional torment of boredom. Find me a story that is so rich I could run it through in my head and not wear it thin until the end of my sentence in this cell, and I will give you what you need."

"I don't have that much time, Loki. Can't you help me now?"

"And risk you never coming back again?" Loki says, and smiles bitterly, all teeth. "I know you are generally a man of your word, but you also tend to forget your debts and make your friends wait. I'm not your friend, Doctor; my good will towards you is strained as of late, so I will not wait on you. My seiðr for your story."

"What stories have you heard?"

Another sharp smile.

"I must know thousands."

This reassuring fact in the Doctor's head, he decides he is finished with this visit.

"I'm going to find your story. Don't go anywhere."

"Oooh, was that a joke? I haven't heard one of those in _ages_," Loki laughs giddily as the Doctor leaves. His mirth gradually turns into a laughing fit, and the Doctor speeds up his pace, truly unnerved.

"What has he bargained for? You know you could not parley for his freedom," says Thor when the Doctor emerges from the prison.

"He doesn't want it. He wants something far simpler," the Doctor says. He is trying to control his temper, but he doesn't find it easy. "Quite an interesting prison cell for him, wouldn't you think?"

"It is a prison of his own making," Thor says evenly. This is a lie and they both know it. The Doctor shoves his clenched fists into his pockets.

"I will be back very soon," he says behind gritted teeth, and walks into the TARDIS.

When he is safely inside, he yells at nothing in particular and kicks the sturdy doors. Only Loki would willingly postpone the fate of an entire planet for a story. The Doctor has not yet been in a situation where a simple story could be the only source of kindness and change he could hope for. The fact that one of his companions, even the one that went most distressingly astray, would peddle so much for something so small physically hurts him.

Loki's seiðr, though certainly precious, is not unique to him. It can be taught, even transplanted to a new recipient in the proper circumstances. The seiðr is an ancient science that is sometimes beyond the Doctor, and it is endlessly creative in a way that could almost be classified as magic.

Indeed, when he traveled in the TARDIS, Loki would insist on referring to his knowledge as magic.

And of all the other options that were open, the seiðr seems the best and most painless way to rescue the planet Earth from destruction by crazed maniac.

But now there is the matter of a story. A tale so new and so cleverly spun that it can distract Loki from his physical torment and give him a few moments' peace. The Doctor cannot even begin to think of where he will find such a story. He must travel.

He meets a family in China that imparts to him the tale of the mother's grandmother's enchanted tapestry, which was so beautiful it was stolen by fairies, only to be retrieved by her faithful youngest son. A little girl with missing front teeth tells him her father's version of Cinderella, which is a great deal gorier than even the Brothers Grimm intended. The Brothers Grimm themselves aren't available, unfortunately, but Hans Christian Andersen remembers Loki from last time and writes him the Ugly Duckling. Scheherazade know about a thousand more tales than she lets on, and transcribes one just for Loki, in return for the golden apple that he gifted her when they met. Amelia Pond's _Melody Malone_ books are largely out of print, but there's a couple of raggedy copies here and there.

That's just Earth. The Doctor binds the sheaves of paper and parchment into a crude book. He doesn't know if Loki is allowed books, but he knows Loki will remember these stories if they are read to him even once. And he plans to read them all to him.

He visits the Library, now thankfully devoid of silence. The librarians remember him and CAL gives him a couple of her favourite books. He meets Jack Harkness there, who tells him about his friend in Little Italy and tacks on a happy, hopeful ending to it all.

There is a boy who is prince of his asteroid who tells him gleefully about his extinct volcanoes, and his enduring love for his rose. The Doctor sadly collects his words, watches 36 sunsets with the Little Prince, and wishes he didn't know how this story ends.

There is a bar that everyone passes through on Jalian 17. The bartender knows a couple of choice anecdotes.

When the Doctor returns to Asgard, it has been a day since he left. But he carries a large box full of stories from every corner of the universe, and is ready to entertain Loki for a few hours. Because that's what Loki must want. Entertainment, a reminder that there is a life and universe beyond the void of his prison cell.

"Hello, Doctor," Loki says when he re-enters the cell. He seems to be in a far better mood than he was in yesterday.

"Yes, good morning Loki," the Doctor says, and puts his large pile of papers on the rickety table that he's been provided. "I've been busy."

"So I see," Loki nods, and even smiles. "Do I see Scheherazade's chicken scratch?"

"She had a couple of contributions for you, yes," the Doctor says, trying not to let his pride show.

"Read them to me," Loki says, and there's a hint of the imperious, cocky prince that traveled in the TARDIS so long ago. "I've been waiting forever."

"It's only been a day."

"A dreadfully _boring_ day."

The Doctor has to laugh at that, and pulls out one of Scheherazade's tales.

There was a small village where a young woman lived with her mother. Despite being the loveliest girl for miles around, she had no dowry and so she could not marry. This was too bad for her, because she wanted so badly to travel and to see the world that every night, she dreamt of flying and seeing far-off lands that way.

"One day I will fly, mama!"

She would say this to her mother three times a day, once in the morning when she woke her mother up, once in the midday after a prayer, and once at sunset before they went to bed. And each time she said it, her mother would say,

"Only in your dreams, Laila!"

For Laila was her name. And it was true that young Laila could only fly in her dreams. But one night Laila's mother woke up with a sudden chill.

"Laila, come closer to me, child, I am cold," she said, and opened her eyes wide when she did not receive an answer. Laila was gone. In her fright, Laila's mother ran outside, only to see her daughter swept up by the wind, flying in her sleep.

"Laila, get down from there! You are too high up and you will fall when you wake!" she hollered, and to her surprise, she started to fly as well! Marching up into the sky, the worried mother took Laila into her arms and shook her awake.

"Mama, you can fly," Laila giggled, and held her mother's hands. "And now I can too!"

And so, mother and daughter flew together and saw far-off lands that way.

"Seems a bit short for her," Loki says

"I could only stay with her for dinner," the Doctor says apologetically.

"Was she happy when you saw her?" Loki asks.

"Very. She has full run of her own palace and plenty of books," the Doctor promises. He knows how important Scheherazade was to Loki in their adventure together. "Dinner was magnificent. Poets, musicians, dancing. Bananas like you wouldn't _believe_."

"And she still keeps...?"

"It rests beside her bed, on a cushion of its own."

Loki closes his eyes, as if to imprint the image into his eyelids.

"I miss her terribly. If... if you had left me_ there_ instead of in..."

He opens his eyes.

"Why, you often speak of Reinette. You know how it is," he says. "The one abiding love for someone seen too briefly. It's a bit foolish to think on it now, of course. A lady of such worth would never have had me. Not as I was then. Certainly not as I am now."

The Doctor doesn't know what to say. It's been ages since he's thought about Reinette, how much he misses her. Until now, it's never really hit home for him that the longing he feels for Madame de Pompadour is comparable to Loki and Scheherazade.

"If I'd known, Loki, I would have asked her for a few more," he says.

"No, I will keep that one close. One day I'll ask her for another in person."

"One day?" the Doctor asks, lump in his throat.

"I have already served two hundred years here. I just have fifty more," Loki says with a smile. "After that I'll be free to go where I please. When I please."

The Doctor can't say anything to that which won't cause undue distress.

"How about another story?" he says instead, and picks up the Ugly Duckling.

Thor watches his brother and the visitor from the observation room. He hasn't seen Loki this animated in an age, and while it is uplifting to see such a change, he worries about what will happen once the Doctor leaves and he is alone again.

It has been two hundred years in the impossible cell, and Loki has bore it with varying levels of acceptance. Thor does not want the last fifty years to be sleepless vigils watching his brother cry and relive the time he spent falling from the Bifrost.

Though none believe him, Thor remembers Loki's gaze when he built and then enchanted the cell of his own free will, remembers how scared he seemed. The punishment had seemed cruel, far crueller than the punishment Thor would have arranged. But Loki had been adamant, sure that his willpower or Thor's sentiment would have broken any other fortifications.

The Doctor has been travelling alone for a long time. Even if it hasn't been two hundred years, Thor can see the toll of loneliness in the droop of the Doctor's shoulders. It saddens him that there has so far been no replacement for Loki aboard the blue box.

It cannot overwhelm the sadness Thor feels when Loki softly, tentatively, speaks of future beyond the void.

"...and then the papa tomato squashes the little tomato and says 'Catch up'," The Doctor finishes. He is at the end of the huge sheaf of papers. Loki seems uncommonly amused.

"_Pulp Fiction_, Doctor? Full of surprises," he grins, leaning against the grips on his bars.

"I know you've heard it before, but the joke is so awful, it warrants repeating," The Doctor says, semi-apologetically. Loki smiles, and sighs.

"When I am freed I will watch every single film I have ever been recommended," he says. "I've always disliked Midgard, especially near the end, but the cinema is such an inspired invention."

"What was the first movie you watched, Loki?" the Doctor asks. He wonders if Loki has started to forget the happiness in their travels.

"You showed me my first," Loki says. "It was _To Catch A Thief_. It was biting, witty, full of colour. I had never seen anything like it. You..." he laughs, almost giddily, "...you didn't warn me about how it would be before I watched it. You just told me that I..."

"...That you underestimated Midgard," the Doctor finishes. He laughs, though he is trying not to think of the other time he had needed to say that to his former companion. Loki sees his expression, and immediately his happy look falters.

"You think you are the only one who remembers and regrets. I have stayed here on this little patch of earth for two hundred years, accompanied by little more than my guilt. From the foundations of my regret I have built more regret, Doctor. In my mind I have an entire city of Shame," Loki says, his voice unsteady. His head lowers slowly, and the Doctor realizes with terror that he is crying.

"Loki."

"I'm sorry," Loki says. "I thank you for the stories. They were wonderful."

"I'm glad you liked them."

"I want to help you. You wanted my seiðr."

Loki tentatively lets go of one of the sidebars, and displays his palm, which sparks faintly with what seiðr there is left.

"It's difficult for me to conduct the transference as I am, but I can likely teach you what you need. What is the situation?"

"Loki, it is your last attempt on Earth," the Doctor says, deciding at the last moment not to sugar-coat what is happening two hundred years ago. There is a pause in Loki's thoughts so tangible the Doctor can hear it.

"I had always wondered how you managed to defeat me," he says. "Two hundred years, and I never realized that you might consult _me._"

"There's nobody else that could possibly best you, Loki."

"Ah, appealing to the old ego," Loki smiles ruefully. "Am I the last best idea you have?"

"You're the last worst idea," the Doctor corrects. Loki stretches his shoulders, which crack and strain.

"My memory is spotty," he says after a moment, "but I have a few ideas which might be of use. Now listen carefully. I have a few simple safeguards on my person. Simple but effective, and nigh undetectable. However, they are easily overcome when you're looking for the right thing."

Gingerly letting go of the bars, Loki rolls up his sleeve to reveal a savage burn on his forearm.

"I used to have a tattoo here. It was a simple caution against harm. You must... counter it with the spell I'm giving you."

He slowly, phonetically pronounces a spell in its original, Elder tongue, so the Doctor can repeat it back. Because Loki strips it of its meaning, it is not translated to Gallifreyan, and the Doctor has to ask.

"What does it mean?"

"What it means is irrelevant, and if you know what it means then you will lose the language. It's the phrasing and inflection that will make the spell work. Now say it as I said it."

The Doctor obliges the Norse god, and his hand is immersed in cool, green fire. Loki whispers something sharply, and it extinguishes.

"How will I turn it off myself?" the Doctor inquires.

"When you touch my flesh, eventually the nature of the Frost Giants shall extinguish it without you needing to know the counterspell," Loki promises. "Just don't let go, even if I start... well, you know how I am with fire."

The Doctor nods, biting his lip. It disturbs him how candid Loki is about the past, how easily he gives the secret for crippling pain and fear.

"After you have countered my safeguard, I will be somewhat susceptible to your magic wand," Loki continues. "Which is fortunate because when I travelled with you I took the liberty of... modifying it for ease of use."

"You took my screwdriver?" the Doctor asks incredulously.

"It was just for a couple of days when we were on the gardening planet," Loki snaps. "Why so upset? You know what they say about gift horses."

"Frankly Loki, I get worried when you mention anything having to do with horses," the Doctor counters. "Tell me what you did."

"I imbued it with a couple of spells. I'm surprised that after centuries you still haven't found them," Loki smirks. "They can be accessed with the name of my mother-father. I will leave that to you. There are three spells; one is a temporary paralysis which can work on anything up to the mass of a dragon for three hours. The next spell gives you the ability to see past illusion. The last is a defense against ice, particularly the ice of the Frost Giants."

The Doctor is dumbfounded.

"You gave this to me on the gardening planet?"

"Yes," Loki nods, "I was concerned for your safety around me."

The Doctor nods, remembering how confused and violent Loki was that early in their adventures, how negatively he reacted to being flung through time and space. It never occurred to him that the Loki of then had the insight to try and protect rather than destroy.

"Thank you," he finally says. "I will visit you again."

He starts to get up, now feeling the urgency of getting to Tokyo of 2014.

"Doctor," Loki says, and the Doctor must stop. "I have one request upon my defeat."

"What is it?"

"Do not send me back to Asgard this time. Kill me immediately or throw me to the cosmos to eventually die among the stars."

"I cannot kill you. The fact that you're here means you must live," the Doctor says, not without regret. "You must face judgement."

"Doctor, please."

"I will visit you again in fifty years, when you are released," he promises, and turns to the door. "We will travel again. Please think of that."

"Yes, you're right," Loki says after a moment. "I just wanted to see what you would say. I can never parse how time works for you. Good luck Doctor. Thank you for the stories."

The Doctor nods, and leaves the cell. He does not bid Thor goodbye, instead making a beeline for his beloved TARDIS.


End file.
